


Enchant My Heart

by DAfan7711



Series: Beyond Circle, Beyond Order [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, Mages, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:45:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5637895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DAfan7711/pseuds/DAfan7711
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He chaperones Arl Teagan’s son. She chaperones the Princess. When they meet in Denerim, Enchanter Stella can hear Rollie’s blood sing for her.</p><p>Six years after she cured the blood magic taint from the well at the Independent College of Magi, Enchanter Stella is Arcane Advisor to King Alistair and Queen Margaret in Denerim. During month-long betrothal negotiations for Princess Sera, Stella and her fellow chaperone find themselves thinking more about their own mutual attraction than noble bloodlines. But it’s dangerous to ignore those on the outside, especially when they’re willing to kill to claim the crown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Her voice (swimming with a Princess)

**Author's Note:**

> Kissing Cousins! Sera and Brayden are not blood relatives: Teagan’s sister, Queen Rowan, was married to Alistair’s father, but she was not Alistair’s mother. Remember Origins? “I’m a bastard . . . the fatherless kind.” In DA2, Alistair introduces Teagan as “sort of” his uncle.
> 
> Even if they were blood relatives, Sera and Brayden are first cousins once removed: Alistair is Brayden’s first cousin, which makes Sera and Brayden kissing cousins in most states (44 out of 50) in the U.S.
> 
> And who says a Princess can’t rule alone? Alistair certainly thinks she can . . .

Rollie rode next to young Brayden all the way from Redcliffe to Denerim. They were less than a day out now, enjoying the hot summer sun and gentle breeze.

“Dad,” Brayden groused to Arl Teagan, “We’re moving too slow. Can I _please_ ride ahead? We’re almost there.”

The Arl looked to Rollie, who nodded. “As long as you take Ser Rollie with you.”

“Yes!” Brayden hunched down in the saddle. “Let’s go, Rollie!” He shot off down the road, assuming his chaperone would catch up.

After nearly two weeks at a slow walk, the horses seemed to enjoy the run as much as the men did. They bantered back and forth with joyful whinnies and shook their heads in frustration a mile down the road when they were slowed to a trot.

“Easy, boy,” Rollie laughed and patted his horse’s neck. “We have a lot of miles yet to cover today.”

“Think she’ll remember me?” Brayden asked.

“Who?” Rollie feigned ignorance and Brayden gave a frustrated scoff.

“Sera, of course.”

“You’ve seen each other every summer of your lives, so I’d assume so.”

“I mean me for me,” Brayden sent him a pleading look. “For our sparring in the ring, for our card games, and nicking sweets. The times we rode out with friends, snuck the horses out after dark. Not as . . .” He bit his lower lip.

“Not as a suitor foisted upon her by her grandmother for political reasons?”

“Yes!” He gave Rollie a relieved smile. “You understand. I’m glad you’re my chaperone this year instead of Mum.”

Arlessa Kaitlyn handled Redcliffe’s affairs while Arl Teagan was away. Her younger brother Bev, just a year older than Rollie’s thirty-five, was home from his latest adventures, adding his sword to her guard.

“It’s good to have a guy to talk to about shit. Dad’s okay, but . . . he’s Arl. If the King wants me to be Sera’s consort . . . I don’t want to burden Dad with anything else.”

“Happy to serve, Master Brayden.”

The boy regained his usual chipper attitude. “You’ll love Denerim, Rollie. We get to stay in the fortress, there’s a bustling market with goodies from all over Thedas and from across the sea, and the food and friends there are fantastic! We’ll get to go swimming and riding a lot, too.”

“Thank you for the invitation.”

“Oh, it was the Arcanist’s idea,” Brayden said absently as he narrowed his eyes at furtive movements down the road.

“During the Grand Enchanter’s spring visit?”

Brayden scowled and slowed his horse, looking more closely at some pedestrians ahead. “Yeah, something about your blood song makes you a perfect guard for the summer circuit or something weird like that—Hey!”

Rollie yanked his eyes from his charge to see what had him upset. About fifty yards ahead, a group of a half-dozen men, daggers in hand, slunk on foot from the road toward a line of bushes running along a stream.

“What are you assholes doing?!” Brayden kicked his horse into a running charge. When he left the road to cross the grass on a collision course with them, the bandits fled and he pulled his horse to a stop.

“Fuckers,” Brayden muttered when Rollie caught up. “Sneaking up on travelers.”

A feminine laugh had them blink at each other in surprise. Brayden raised an index finger over his lips to indicate quiet and Rollie rolled his eyes. Over the gentle running of the stream, a higher-pitched giggle rose from a second female voice, followed by a large splash and a shriek.

“Gotcha, Stella!”

Brayden made like he was going to dismount, but Rollie grabbed his arm and furiously shook his head.

 _But it’s Sera!_ Brayden mouthed.

 _All the more reason!_ Rollie mouthed back.

Panic welled up in his chest. What would the King and Arl do to him if he let the boy spy on the Princess while she bathed?

The richer voice sputtered and laughed in return. “Your point.”

Now it was his turn to be distracted. Even in such a short sentence, the older woman’s voice was a strong music that coated him in electric tingles. He shifted in the saddle, uncomfortably aware that a certain part of his anatomy also grew with interest.

“I shouldn’t let my guard down: your cannon balls are deadly, Your Highness.”

“I can’t outswim you, Stella.”

“Your form is beautiful. You’re as expert in the water as you are with a blade.”

“That’s about all that is,” the Princess grumbled.

“What?”

“Perfect form on the battlefield,” Sera said more loudly, “that’s all that’s pretty about me—Well, Daddy says I’m pretty, but he’s blind as a nug in the dark.” Her voice trembled.

Rollie chanced a look at Brayden. The boy looked stricken, leaning forward in the saddle toward his friend who didn’t know he was there.

“Oh, Sera, sweetie, don’t cry.” He heard water moving around bodies. “Come here.”

There was a moment of silence. Perhaps the woman hugged her.

“You are beautiful. If anyone tells you differently, I’ll fry them.”

Rollie’s heart melted in his chest. Who was this Stella? He hoped she would be at the fortress in Denerim, and wasn’t just some friend Sera had snuck out to meet.

The Princess hiccupped a laugh. “I think we should get out now. My boobs have turned to prunes.”

That had both women laughing and splashing toward shore. Brayden’s eyes brightened, but Rollie gave him a stern look and jerked his head toward the road. With a sigh, the Arl’s son turned his horse toward Denerim.

A mile down the road, pounding hooves gained on them and they turned to look. Several hundred yards off to their east, two horses flew across the open land, carrying the Princess and her friend, both laughing. Sera’s golden hair streamed behind her like the sun. Stella’s hair ran along behind like a furious fire.

He would love to be burned by that hair.

Rollie pulled himself from his staring to check on Brayden, who sat with his mouth open.

“Come on, kid. Let’s get to Denerim.”

-

_Freedom!_

Other than the three years she’d lived in the Circle as a child, she’d legally been free, but this . . . this type of freedom had only been hers for about six years now. To go and do and be whomever she wanted, her heart and movements free of fetters.

Stella loved the wild ride away from their favorite secluded swimming spot. As always, Princess Sera took the lead, a shining spot of sun as golden as her father.

“Can’t catch me!” Sera shouted over her shoulder.

“I don’t have to!”

Stella Fade Stepped off her horse to stand in front of Sera’s and the princess pulled up short, making her horse rear and whinny in protest, but she held her seat.

“That’s cheating!”

Stella smiled. “You don’t hear me say that when you pull out your sword and shield.”

“Yes, Enchanter Stella,” Sera grumped.

Stella’s horse walked over. The Enchanter patted the Princess’ knee and remounted.

“You’re brilliant, Your Highness. Let’s go home.”


	2. Please pass the rolls

Sera was so content, even a scolding from her Gran couldn’t dampen her mood.

“Where have you been?!” Lady Trevelyan chastised her as they entered the gate. “The Arl will be here any moment! Even little Duncan is washed and dressed.”

As if anyone arriving today would care if her six-year-old brother showed up looking like an unwashed hooligan.

Heart full of warm sunshine from her happy outing, Sera kissed her cheek. “Take it easy, Gran. It’s just Brayden and Uncle Teagan.”

Lithe, gentle Brayden, with green eyes dreamier than Dalish forests. If only Gran would let her daydream a little longer.

“This visit is _different_. These are _betrothal_ negotiations. Go, clean up—and wear your new dress.”

She resolutely kept her smile in place. No fucking way was Gran going to sully her mood.

“I will comb my hair, but I will not wear a dress.” She kissed her cheek again. “Love you, Gran. See you later.”

-

Stella was pinning the last of her hair atop her head when trumpets announced visitors. She was to chaperone the Princess whenever her maid or the Queen wasn’t available, but everyone was supposed to be in the greeting party when the Arl’s entourage arrived.

She ran down to the courtyard to find only two guest had arrived so far. Stable hands led the horses away and other staff took the saddle bags inside. Sera hugged Brayden while a tall man with obsidian-black hair looked on in amusement.

“This is Ser Rollie, from my father’s household,” Brayden took a step back from their hug, but held on to Sera’s hand, and she let him.

Interesting. They hadn’t been holding hands last summer.

“Welcome to Denerim, Ser Rollie,” Sera said as Stella joined them. “This is Enchanter Stella, Arcane Advisor to the crown, and one of my best friends.” The Princess grinned and threw her a wink.

Rollie’s clear ice-blue gaze pierced her and she felt like squirming. She had never seen a man so tall, or a look so frank. “An honor, Enchanter Stella.” He gave a formal bow and the Princess giggled.

“Come on, we’ll show you to your rooms and then we can actually do fun stuff before Gran finds us!”

-

Stella was grateful dinner was informal that first night. She was starving from her mid-day swim with the Princess and didn’t want to sit through any speeches or dainty first courses before getting to the meat. She sat down at her usual place mid-table, just as Sera dragged Brayden’s chaperone over.

“Here, Rollie, sit by Stella. Everybody else is boring.”

The Princess pushed him down into his seat and scampered off to the end of the table where Brayden was already heaping her plate with fruit salad. At the other end, the Queen’s mother held Arl Teagan deep in conversation and Alistair raised a dried date to Margie’s lips like they were alone in the world. Duncan slunk away from his mother’s side to tromp down to Sera and steal orange slices off Brayden’s plate.

A rich baritone voice drew her attention back to the middle of the table.

“May I join you?” Rollie asked with a twinkle in his eye. It was a very pretty twinkle.

“Certainly, Ser Rollie.”

“Please, it’s just Rollie. My parents raise wool for the Arl and I lucked out joining his guard—though I guess I’m kind of a secretary and babysitter now: I go wherever Teagan says I’m needed.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She knew another man who served like that. “Help the person in front of you,” Connor always said. But Connor had never made her nerves hum like this. Even before he broke her heart.

Rollie offered her a platter and held it steady while she used the serving fork to fill her own plate.

Goodness, his hands were huge. _Focus, Stella._

“So, what did you do today, Enchanter Stella?”

“I usually don’t go by title, either, Rollie.”

He grinned. “Good.”

How could that one word turn her insides to mush?

“I got up early to prepare some potions and herbs. Then the Princess and I enjoyed a ride and swim, as is our weekly habit.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t sound like much, but it somehow took all day.”

“So, is that what you do, watch over Princess Sera?”

Stella paused while reaching for the bread basket. She’d never thought about it that way before.

“It’s not what I was hired to do,” she said carefully, picking up the basket, “but over the last six years we’ve become close. Sera and I look out for each other.”

“It’s good to have a friend at your back,” he looked her in the eye as she passed him the bread. Their fingers brushed and lighting flashed through her.

He was taller than Alistair, broader than Stanley, and sweeter than Rane. His quick wit and curious questions had thoroughly entertained Sera and Brayden on their tour of the fortress this afternoon. And he’d deftly used every small chance to build up the teens’ confidence without letting them know he did it. He could pay the Princess a compliment without overstepping his bounds and followed Sera and Brayden around like a cool older brother who would stay out of the way—unless he was needed.

He had no magic, but his blood sang with some primal power greater than Connor’s limitless talent.

She should be terrified of him.

She wasn’t.

She was intrigued, drawn to him like a Fade-touched creature is drawn to Lyrium.

-

Fire flashed through his veins when she passed him the bread and their fingers touched.

_Maker, you’re beautiful._

He couldn’t very well tell Stella that the day they met. She’d probably run screaming from the room, or demand that the King throw him out. Actually, from what he’d gleaned from this afternoon’s tour, she’d be more likely to calmly shoot him with lightning or fire herself.

Or, if that failed, smash the meat platter over his head.

She’d been practical and factual in her concise explanations of the fortress’ daily operations, yet compassionate and friendly toward Brayden and the Princess.

She was genuinely Sera’s friend. Her tone had been joking at the stream, but Rollie had no doubt Stella would indeed fry anyone who told Sera she wasn’t pretty.

Remembering the first time he’d heard her voice made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. If she knew he’d overheard her bathing conversation with the Princess, she _would_ set him on fire.

“So,” he said, “What do you think Sera and Brayden have in store for us tomorrow?”


	3. Personal library

The first week flashed by like wildfire. In another two weeks, there would be a formal banquet in honor of Teagan and Brayden’s visit. The week after that, they would leave to return to Redcliffe.

Rollie almost panicked when he realized they only had three weeks left to enjoy Denerim. It had more to do with a certain red-head in the King’s employ than the beauty of the city itself. Thoughts of Stella eclipsed everything.

The Arl spent every morning in conference with the King and Queen. Sera and Brayden went riding every morning, so Stella and Rollie went, too, along with a half-dozen guards. In the afternoons, Sera and Brayden sparred with anyone they could. They were evenly matched with each other and consistently won against the royal guards, but sometimes lost to Teagan and Rollie. No one could best the King or Queen.

When Sera announced that she wanted to show Brayden all the latest imports, Queen Margaret and Rollie supervised a trip to the market. Of course, wherever the Queen and Princess went, at least a dozen royal guards tagged along, too, and other shoppers gave them a wide berth.

Despite the summer heat, Queen Margaret wore her Prowler armor with the Theirin crest blazing on her breastplate and her dual blades strapped to her back. Sera, Brayden, and Rollie wore their swords and shields and light jerkins. Rollie had never gone shopping while armed before and it made him a little nervous, though the others seemed completely at ease.

Talking non-stop, Sera and Brayden checked out everything from the newest Antivan candies to the oldest dwarven blades from Orzammar. Brayden couldn’t go five minutes without touching the back of her hand, and the Princess flashed him a smile every time.

“Ooh, Mum, look at these pearls! They’d be perfect for Stella to send to Dagna. We should find something for her to send Connor, too.”

Rollie didn’t care about jewelry. After the first hour of their walk, he let his mind wander away from the sunny marketplace, back to the fortress. He wondered what Stella did when not chaperoning the Princess. Mix potions? Read about dragons?

Hearing her name drew his thoughts back to the present.

“Stella is the most talented Dreamer in the world!” Sera told Brayden. “She purged a blood taint from the College.”

Rollie listened just as raptly as Brayden while the Princess told the tale of how Stella, her twin brother Rane, and their two guards defeated a curse on the Independent College of Magi and destroyed a Pride demon.

When they returned to the fortress, Sera kissed Brayden’s cheek and ran off with her mother to put away their purchases.

Brayden gave a contented sigh. “She tells that story every year, but I don’t care. I just love listening to her talk.”

“If the Enchanter can cure bad dreams, maybe I should talk to her,” Rollie said casually. “The last few nights I haven’t slept well.”

Brayden narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but didn’t press him on it. “Whatever, just don’t get _distracted_. Dad’s expecting us at the sparring ring in twenty minutes.”

Rollie asked for directions from one of the servants on her way to the kitchen and soon found himself knocking on the open door of Stella’s bright office in the tower.

“Oh, hi, Rollie,” she straightened up from the work table and wiped her hands nervously on a white rag. “Come in. What can I do for you?”

He entered and stood a stride away from her. Perhaps closer than strict propriety allowed, but it still felt far away to him.

“I hear you can cure nightmares.”

“I can invade dreams. It’s not the same thing.”

She leaned forward in concern, abruptly sticking her hand in her pocket when she realized she reached for him. He wished she had touched him.

“Have you not been sleeping well?” she asked.

He decided on direct honesty. She wouldn’t settle for anything less, and, in a few short weeks, he’d be gone. No time for a subtle courtship.

“Not since the moment we met.”

Her eyes took on a panicked sheen he thought no one else would notice, especially since she answered in a professional tone.

“I could blend a sleeping draught for you—but it should only be used a few times a week, and not indefinitely.”

He took a half-step forward and leaned an extra inch into her personal space, proud to see her stand her ground. The wild pulse in her fair throat gave away her increased heart rate and he felt himself harden.

“I would appreciate that, Enchanter Stella.” He gave her a wicked grin. “Does it need to be administered by a healer?”

“It’s not required,” she whispered, eyes flitting to his lips. She blinked and regained her composure.

“I’ll have it ready before dinner.”

She spun back around and stumbled into her worktable. He pinched his lips together to keep from laughing. She shot him a glare over her shoulder.

“Until dinner, Enchanter Stella.”

He bowed and left her alone in her office.

-

_Bugger it._

Stella wished she knew an appropriate curse for what Rollie’s flirting did to her insides. She’d been in _love_ once for goodness sake, and had never felt this roiling fire of lust in her innards.

Stella hadn’t understood her brother’s obsession with Varric’s novels, full of heaving bosoms and fleshy swords. She’d dutifully re-read the books when Dagna gave her a complete autographed set as a going away present. They involved a lot of unnecessary angst and miscommunication for a simple physical act like sex. If you wanted to partner with someone, why wouldn’t you just ask?

_Because you’re struck dumb and mute._

She gripped her skull in frustration, remembering her haughty comment to Rane on the ride home to the College from Val Royeaux all those years ago: “Sex isn’t some big mystery, Rane. Just insert part b into slot a.”

He’d smiled sweetly and changed the subject.

Though alone in her office, she blushed, suddenly realizing that Stanley and Rachel had probably heard her comment and had a good laugh about it later.

Her embarrassment morphed into fear. Rollie probably knew what he was doing. Surely he understood better than she and she would disappoint him.

“No,” she shook her head with determination and reached for a tome covered in purple ram’s leather. “I’m smart. I can figure this out.”

-

After a good sparring session with Brayden, Rollie washed up for dinner and returned to Stella’s office. He stopped in front of her door when he saw she was talking to one of the cook’s assistants at the other end of the hall. Stella smiled and waved for him to go in.

He browsed her bookshelves while he waited. Most were titles like The Arcane or Healing Herbs. There were three volumes by Arcanist Dagna on Fade-touched animal properties. One shelf was full of Tethras novels, plus a volume with no spine label: It was covered in purple ram’s leather buffed to smooth perfection.

Curious, he slid it from the shelf, surprised by how softly it smoothed into his hands to rest on his fingertips. The feathery, sweet scent of wildflowers drifted up to his nose. A tingle of excitement ran up from his palm into his chest, throat, and tongue.

Even with no magical talent, he could feel the book was ripe with it.

The cover was a flawlessly blank violet, cool against his warm hand. He cradled the spine in his palm and gently opened the cover with an index finger. The outer folds bloomed like a rose to rest in his hand, open to the flowing script of the title page:

_The Lady’s Guide to Pleasurable Positions_

He snapped the book shut and stuck it back where he’d found it, making sure the binding was flush with the shelf’s edge alongside its companions.

_Maker._

He wanted to read it.

_Maker._

It was probably illustrated.

_Maker._

His hand reached toward the book again, but he pulled himself back before touching it and stalked over to the window to stare blindly into the courtyard.

Less than a minute later, Stella bustled in, humming. “Thanks for waiting. We were discussing which mushrooms are safe to serve with mutton.”

“Which are those?” he asked, relieved his voice didn’t squeak with guilt. He was glad he hadn’t been caught poking amongst the more personal parts of her library.

“Most Fereldan varieties, if you boil them right.

“Here,” she pulled a vial of sparkling clear liquid from a tray on her work table and handed it to him. “You should be in bed while you take it.”

_So should you_ , he almost said. What was wrong with him, thinking such rough and crass things?

She turned to the bookshelves and pulled a heavy brown tome out from a middle shelf. “You can borrow this: I’ve filled it with Dreamer magic. If you read a chapter before bed, you’ll sleep peacefully.”

“Not true.”

Rollie turned to find the Princess framed in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning a shoulder on the doorframe.

“The bedtime stories only work if Stella reads them to you.”

“Ser-ra!” Stella hissed and blushed.

The Princess raised an aristocratic eyebrow. Rollie mirrored the motion and Stella huffed out a sigh.

“Technically, dream magic only works if a Dreamer reads it to you,” she admitted. “But the stories’ happy endings are usually enough for people to sleep peacefully without my help.”

“I’m starving,” Sera turned out the door. “Let’s go.”

He hadn’t noticed Stella stepping closer until she whispered her hot, moist breath across his cheek. “Page one-thirty-six.”

She hurried out after the Princess and closed the door behind her, leaving him alone in her office.

He opened the storybook to the end to find it didn’t go past page one-hundred.

He froze. She’d seen him with the purple book.

His eyes dragged upward to look at the thick violet binding with no spine label, his throat dry and tongue swollen, even though he was salivating. He shot a look at the closed door, set the storybook down on the work bench, and slid the Lady’s Guide out again.

This time it felt like his fingers were on fire.

He turned to page one-thirty-six and his mouth dropped open.

It was an ink illustration of a man reclining in an armless rocking chair as a woman straddled his lap in wild abandon. His mouth was wrapped around one of her breasts, his eyes closed in rapturous pleasure.

In full color, his mind flashed forward the image of Stella riding him while he tasted her. Would she be sweet? Salty? Exotic? Spicy—

_Stop!_ He had to yank his imagination back into the present. He was expected at dinner in less than five minutes and a hard-on for the Princess’ chaperone was not socially appropriate attire.

Much as he wanted to look closer and memorize the details, Rollie carefully closed the tome and put it away.

_Maker._

How was he going to eat dinner at the King’s table after she’d breathed on his face and he’d seen that picture?

Maybe he hadn’t been the most appropriate choice for a chaperone.


	4. Swimming with bandits

Rollie feared the Princess a little too perceptive.

She had seated him by Stella for dinner, paired them for cards, and dragged the Enchanter to the courtyard to watch him spar with the Arl.

Then, the morning after she’d interrupted his book discussion with Stella, the Princess dismissed her guards and announced that she didn’t want her weekly swim. All four horses had been saddled, but she took Brayden’s reins from his hand and handed the teens’ horses off to a stable hand.

“I’m too tired for a swim today. You two go for a ride without us,” she said sunnily. “Mum said she’d play cards with us in the garden.”

Brayden shrugged and let Sera pull him back toward the keep, leaving Rollie alone with Stella and his not-so-noble desires.

“I, um, need to tell you something,” Rollie said as they mounted. “You might not want to go after I tell you.”

She laughed. “Rollie, I work for the Royal family. Not much shocks me.”

He squirmed in his saddle anyway. “Brayden and I heard you swimming.”

“Heard us?” She raised a haughty eyebrow.

“We didn’t peek!”

She smiled like his discomfort was the most amusing predicament in Thedas. He hadn’t known he could feel even more flustered.

“There were bandits sneaking in your direction and Brayden scared them off. When he heard Sera laughing, he wanted to say hi, but I insisted we move on.”

Eyes sparkling with mischief, she leaned over from her saddle to kiss his cheek.

“Thanks for telling me, Rollie. I still want to go with you.”

-

How cute. He was flustered and apologetic, thinking she and Sera had been the pair at a disadvantage last week while he was spying.

Once they were out of the city, she smiled at him again. “I heard you, you know.”

“Pardon?”

“When you approached the stream,” her grin widened at his pained expression. “I recognized Brayden’s blood song long before you got close, and I figured anyone traveling with him must be safe.”

Rollie wrinkled his nose sheepishly. “Brayden mentioned something about the Arcanist listening to blood . . .”

Stella returned her eyes to the road. “Yes, she taught us how to listen. Don’t try to sneak up on me, or Rane, or Dagna, or Connor. Magic or no, everyone’s blood carries song, just as water carries story.”

He sent her a curious glance before hurriedly looking away again. “What . . . what do I sound like?”

Her playful mood blurred around the edges. Blood song wasn’t really a casual conversation. Especially when it was Rollie’s music.

“Primal,” she said as nonchalantly as she could. “It’s a very earthy, strong, and reliable tune.”

“And yours?”

She laughed. “Dagna describes it as a strong fiddle in a cozy pub, perfect for harmony with my twin.”

“And what’s his blood sound like?”

“Usually a cheery flute.”

“Usually?”

She hadn’t meant to let that slip. She nervously ran a hand through her horse’s mane.

“He’s fine now,” she said casually, not meeting his eye. “His song was different for a while when he was in love with someone unsuitable.”

“Unsuitable for whom?”

“Everyone,” she said with finality. “Anyway, tell me about the journey here. What do you think of your first visit to Denerim?”

He let her guide the conversation back to general topics you’d share with any stranger at a pub. Nothing earth-shattering, but she loved listening to his voice.

Over various dinner conversations this past week, they’d already discussed their families: her mabari had been killed by well-meaning Templars the day she and Rane were carted off to the Circle, her parents had died on the road, Dagna and Connor had raised her and her twin brother since age ten, and she’d served the crown for the last six years.

He’d shared about his solitary childhood with his wool-raising parents in Redcliffe, how they’d taught him literature and commerce, and how he’d been recruited into the Arl’s guard one spring day six years ago when he’d helped his father with a delivery to the castle.

Stella didn’t voice her suspicion, but it sounded like his recruitment happened during one of Connor’s visits; she was pretty sure Dagna had “encouraged” the Arl to hire Rollie. Teagan was just as fond of Dagna as Alistair was of Connor, and very open to her suggestions.

It was barely mid-morning when they reached Sera and Stella’s favorite secluded swimming spot fifty yards from the vacant road. The slow-flowing stream was bordered on one side by thick bushes as tall as a man. Mature trees lined the other. Hot summer sun sparkled off the water.

“Lovely,” Rollie said.

 _The stream or me?_ She wanted to ask, but didn’t. She was nervous enough about what she planned to do next and didn’t want to add another layer of teasing.

She’d already taken the combination of herbs that controlled her courses. She was as ready as she could be—if he was interested.

She could feel his eyes on her back as she dismounted. They draped their reins over some low branches.

_Courage, Stella._

She turned to face him. Rollie stood by his horse, just two arm lengths away, watching her with an unreadable expression.

“You know,” she said, pulling pins from her updo and sliding them into her skirt pocket, “since it’s just us, I’d rather not put on that insanely heavy set of curtains called a bathing suit. I’d rather not drown.”

He gave her a knowing smile. “Oh, I heartily agree: safety first.”

Hair now loose to her waist, she took the two steps to stand in front of him and look up into his crystal blue eyes.

“Would you like a kiss?” she whispered with fragile hope.

He bent and pressed his lips to hers.

She groaned and reached her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He slid his arms around her waist.

He flicked his tongue over her lips and she instinctively opened, gasping at the new sensation of his muscled tongue entering her mouth to explore.

He was tart as a purple wine and salty as a hard day’s work. The touch of his lips made her body and mind tremble. A welcome heat pooled in her belly, still a relatively new sensation: before she’d met him, she’d thought such sensations pure fiction.

“Rollie,” she sighed into his mouth.

His lips drifted up to kiss her cheekbone and he rested his forehead to hers. She could feel his arms tremble with the effort not to crush her to himself. Oh, how she wished he would crush against her.

“Would you like to swim?” he asked, more breathless than a kiss should make either of them.

“Yes,” her breath as labored as his own.

She reveled in how his hands slid from her hips when he stepped back. Keeping eye contact, he slowly removed his jerkin and shirt, stuck them in his saddle bag.

She watched, her labored breaths slowing until she almost didn’t breathe at all.

His skin was almost as fair as her own. His chest looked even broader when bare, each line of muscles outlined in perfect symmetry. Fine, obsidian-black hair ran from his abdomen into his breeches.

He licked his lips. “Shall I continue?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He toed off his boots, rolled his breeches and smallclothes off, and put his pants in his saddle bag.

He was thicker and longer than she’d imagined. And _interested_.

She realized she’d been staring for a full minute with her mouth open and yanked her blue gaze back up to his. His lips twitched in amusement.

Stella strode over and crushed herself against him, on her tip-toes, feeling the heat of his naked skin through her summer dress, and yanking his head down for a tangle of teeth and tongues. She’d liked the way he’d explored her mouth earlier. She wanted new angles, big gulps. She ground her front against his, tearing a growl from his throat.

Like a swimmer breaks the surface, he tilted his head back for a breath and hissed her name when she put a hot, open-mouthed kiss, tongue first, over his throat.

He eased back, running his hands up her sides, and flattening his palms to run down the front of her breasts and belly.

A shockwave shot through her and she nearly toppled into his arms. If he could make that happen while she was still clothed . . .

He gave her another knowing smile and sauntered over to the stream, his back and butt a perfect lesson in the potentials of male musculature. Rollie waded into the middle and turned to face her.

“Don’t want to drown, do you? That is, if you still want to swim.”

“Oh!” She was still fully clothed and staring.

Stella whipped her dress over her head and let it drop to the grass.

She struggled to get her breast wrap untied and grumbled, “Blighted thing.”

He chuckled. She wanted to howl in frustration. It finally came loose and dropped on top of her dress. She toed off her boots and chucked her smalls on top of her other clothes.

When she looked up, she froze.

All laughter gone, a new hunger lit his eyes. She could hear his primal blood song pounding like wild bare feet race through a jungle.

The draw was so strong, she didn’t think about being embarrassed. She walked forward as if in a trance, steady steps leading her down into water that inched up her calves, thighs, and waist.

When she reached him in the middle of the stream, the water rose to her shoulders, her long hair drifting behind with the current, fire mixed with water.

The top of her head barely reached his chin. She laid her hands on his damp shoulders, kissed the middle of his clavicle, and leaned back to look up at him, surprised to find his eyes full of tender hope. He still held his hands at his sides.

“Rollie?”

“Yes, Stella?”

“Would you—” she swallowed. “Would you like to make love with me?”

He sighed in relief and smiled. “I would love to.”

He slid his hands through the water, across her naked bum to pull her close, bending to take her lips in a tender kiss.

She leaned in, reveling in the soft feel of her chest against his in the water, the hot press of his erection against her thigh.

She sighed. “Rollie, I—”

His head jerked up with eyes narrowed toward the shore. “Did you hear that?”

“No?”

He pushed her behind him and took a step forward.

Something hit her in the side of the head. She gasped and fell sideways, vision black and lungs struggling to keep water out.

She heard him shout her name. He yanked her up out of the water.

She coughed and sputtered. “I can’t see!”

He dragged her to the shore and dropped with her on top of her clothes. It sounded like another heavy object rushed past their heads to thump on the ground. She struggled to her hands and knees, choking out a sob. Her vision refused to exit utter blackness.

She felt Rollie roll away toward his sword and shield. “Bandits, five or six of them!”

There were shouts and a clatter of steel. No way could he defeat a half-dozen men, especially naked on slippery ground while she couldn’t even see to stay out of the way.

Stella shrieked in frustration, “Connor, I can’t see them! I can’t hear them!” But her Fade vision was as black as her earthly vision and the Dreamer couldn’t call on her friend for power.

Still on her hands and knees, ready to doge any approaching movement, she heard the clatter of combat to her right. She didn’t dare cast spells, lest she hit Rollie or the horses. Running footsteps approached from her left.

“Bastards!” she shouted, throwing chain lighting to her left.

A mingled howl of pain from two voices gave her grim satisfaction. She rose to her knees to throw a fireball and ice shards toward the same spot. Death rattles and the scent of burning flesh confirmed she’d stopped them.

“Stella!” Still blind, she turned toward Rollie’s voice.

She felt someone rush up on her left. She raised her arm too late to avoid another blow to the skull, and fell to the grass unconscious.

-

Rollie’s heart died when he saw Stella crumple back to the ground, a bandit standing over her with a club. He screamed her name again and thrust his sword through the stomach of the man in front of him, his second kill.

She’d been yelling about how she couldn’t see, but she’d practically disintegrated two more bandits. The fifth stood over her and the sixth was sprinting toward his partner. “Grab her and let’s go!”

With a roar, Rollie raised his sword and ran full-tilt toward them. They braced, swords drawn.

Before he reached them, both men flew backward to land dead on the ground: one with an arrow in his eye; the other with two arrows in his chest.

Rollie spun to identify this new danger.

“We’re friends!” A human woman, as fair and dark-haired as Rollie, stepped from the tree line with a youth about ten years old at her side. It was Healer Evelyn from the Denerim marketplace.

The dwarven merchant Gorim also stepped out from the shadows. “Sorry we didn’t keep any alive for questioning,” he said. “It looked like they wouldn’t cooperate.”

It was so surreal, Rollie almost laughed. He choked out a sob instead and stumbled over to fall on his knees at Stella’s side. She lay on her stomach in the grass, face turned toward him, breathing shallowly.

“May I?” the Healer asked.

He nodded and scrambled out of her way so she could check Stella’s pulse and pupils, and search for other injuries.

“Perhaps you’d like to dress, Ser?” Gorim suggested. “We’ll help you get her home safely.”

Still mute, Rollie nodded again and quickly dressed, feeling slightly more human once he had donned his boots and strapped on his weapons.

Gorim filled the space with calm one-sided discussion, clearly used to soothing nerves and keeping others distracted.

“We were hauling supplies to Denerim, heard your shouts from the road.” He nodded toward their horse-drawn cart off in the distance. “Georgie made that eye-shot there. Wouldn’t trust anyone more with my back in a fight, nor with my ethers, right, Georgie?”

The child looked up with a shy smile and nodded, then helped Evelyn roll Stella over to her back while keeping her neck straight and supported.

“Gorim, if you would please fetch me my litter?”

The dwarf bowed to the Healer, who replied with an amused smile, and he trotted off toward the cart.

“Pupils look good,” she said, covering Stella with her dress like a blanket. “She’ll have a hell of a headache when she wakes and we’ll have to watch for brain swelling.”

A fresh wave of fear coursed through him. “What’s that mean?”

She gave him a stern look. “Exactly what it sounds like. It’s harder in summer, when ice isn’t readily available, but I think she’ll wake and be able to summon ice on her own to help with the swelling.”

“Can’t you do that?” He spoke without thinking.

She smiled kindly. “No, I can’t manipulate the elements and Fade like Enchanter Stella.”

“Healer Evelyn’s specialty is life force,” Gorim returned and rolled the litter out on the grass next to Stella’s prone form. “She’s wicked good with a needle, too.”

“Thank you, Gorim.” The Healer knelt behind Stella’s head and the other two flanked her, Gorim by her shoulders, Georgie by her legs. “One, two . . .”

On the third count, the trio lifted Stella gently onto the litter. The Healer at her head and merchant at her feet, they lifted the litter in tandem and began the slow walk back to the road and cart, Rollie staring after them numbly.

The brush of a small hand against his own drew his attention. Georgie stood beside him, offering him the reins of his horse.

“Thank you.”

Georgie nodded and led Stella’s horse toward the cart. Rollie followed.

It wasn’t yet noon when Stella was settled into the back of the merchant’s cart. Georgie tied Stella’s reins to the back of the cart, pulled twice on the Healer’s skirts to get her attention, and nodded toward the empty land to the east of the road.

“Yes,” Healer Evelyn said, “good idea.” She turned to Rollie.

“We’ll take you to Georgie’s Gran’s place, just a mile east of here. You can rest there while I tend to Stella.”

It was a two-room cabin with well-swept floors and a roaring fire in the hearth, despite the summer heat. The old woman who ushered them in was as wrinkled as a raisin and stooped, probably pushing ninety years old, making him wonder if Georgie was a grandchild, great-great grandchild, or just someone she’d taken in to care for.

“Sheets are clean,” the old woman’s voice was as fair as a young maiden’s. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

The Healer, dwarf, and child moved Stella from the litter to the bed as competently as they had moved her the first time, covering her to her chin with a sheet and blanket, and setting her soiled dress aside.

“You can stay, if you wish.”

Rollie hadn’t realized the others had closed the door, leaving him alone with Stella and the Healer.

“Her unconsciousness is unnatural, blocking her ability to dream.” She looked at him with concern. “I’m going to try to stimulate her adrenaline, snap her out of it. Think you can handle that?”

Eyes damp, he nodded.

“Sorry, Stella,” she said, and shoved two fingers underneath the bottom of Stella’s rib cage.

Stella shot upright with a gasp, shaking and gulping for air. Her hands flailed against the blanket and she blinked at the Healer. She stilled.

“Ev?”

 _Thank you, Maker._ She was awake. She could see, think. Rollie wanted to fall to the floor and weep for a week.

“Yes,” Evelyn sighed in relief. “How do you feel?”

“Like I was hit in the head with a rock.”

Evelyn chuckled. “I think that’s what happened, but you bested them and are safe now.”

He could see the memories flood back. Stella’s face crumpled and she clutched the blankets to her mouth, terrified tears pooling in her beautiful blue eyes.

“You’ll need to ice,” Evelyn said. “Have someone watch you for dizziness, swelling.”

Stella nodded.

“What else can we do for you?”

Stella slipped the blankets down to her chin. “I need to be alone, dream.”

“I’ll wake you in two hours,” Evelyn said. “You put some ice on your pillow.”

“Thank you,” Stella’s voice broke.

She hadn’t looked at him at all. Stella clearly knew he was there, and kept her eyes averted.

The Healer ushered him out of the room. As the door closed, Stella sobbed out Connor’s name like a prayer.

Despair washed over him. Not two hours ago, he was kissing the most amazing woman in Thedas. Now she wouldn’t look at him. She cried for someone else.

 _She loves him._ Rollie sank down a kitchen chair. _She doesn’t want me._

He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until Evelyn spoke to him.

“Don’t make assumptions,” she said gently. “Did she tell you she’s in love with someone else?”

Rollie rubbed the back of his neck. “We, uh, haven’t discussed the L-word.”

She arched an elegant eyebrow and replied sternly, “Ser, when a fine woman like that goes skinny dipping with you, it means she’s in love with you.”

-

Two hours later, he sat in front of the fire peeling vegetables and dropping them into a pot of water. Healer Evelyn had plopped him down on a stool and handed him the knife. She said busy hands clear minds and hearts. He’d though she just wanted him out of the way, but now had to admit that the panic in his chest was down to a dull ache.

Georgie’s Gran was out working in her garden. The dwarf and kid had gone back to the stream to dispose of the bandits’ bodies. Gorim had insisted Rollie stay with Stella.

Not that he’d seen her. She was shut behind a door, probably dreaming about someone else.

_Don’t make assumptions._

The Healer tiptoed out of the bedroom room and gently closed the door. “She’s awake and her color’s better. She’s laying on some frost now and should be well enough to ride home in an hour or so.”

“Thank you.”

She gave him a sweet, poignant smile.

“You leave those hideous things outside,” Gran said over her shoulder as she opened the front door. “Let the Healer and Enchanter examine them there. I don’t want any bad vibes in my home.”

“What is it?” the Healer asked.

Georgie ran in and dragged her out into the front yard. Rollie set the paring knife on the table and followed.

Gorim pulled a heavy basket from the back of his cart and dumped the contents on the grass: they were all some kind of stone, varying in color between steel and obsidian. Seven were individual, fist-sized rocks, each strung on a chain like an amulet and etched with a foreign symbol. There were short clubs, too, polished smooth, except for strange glyphs carved into the heads.

Gorim grunted in disgust, “Georgie says they’re enchanted to block magic, interrupt mages’ connection to the Fade.”

“Yes,” the Healer stood well back, eying the rocks. “We’ve seen these symbols in books.” She shuddered. “These men are targeting mages.”

“Were,” Gorrim said. “We burned the bodies, scattered the ashes.”

Rollie didn’t know how they could have done that in such a short space of time, but he was more worried about the rocks:

“Seven amulets, six bandits,” he said.

“Probably to subdue mages,” Gorim said grimly. “Wear a stone as a shield; make the mage wear one as a trap.”

“It’s why I couldn’t hear their blood song.”

Rollie whipped around to see Stella standing in the open door. Wearing a clean dress borrowed from the Healer’s travel satchel, she leaned heavily on the doorframe, fair face white with an unusual pallor.

Georgie ran over and wrapped her in a tight hug.

“We need to melt and bury them,” Stella straightened and held Georgie’s hand. “Gorim, if you would be so kind as to move them further from the garden.”

Rollie swallowed his disgust and helped the dwarf move the rocks to a clear space of grass more than a stone’s throw from the garden. He didn’t know how they would find a Denerim smith with a forge hot enough to melt—

“Step back, please,” Stella called from the front stoop.

Gorim scurried over to his cart and Rollie followed.

“Evelyn,” Stella smiled wryly, “I’ll need some help. I’m feeling a bit drained.”

The Healer took Stella’s free hand and the Enchanter’s cheeks face instantly flushed with a red glow.

A swift firestorm smashed down from the sky and a molten light flared out from the pile of rocks. It took less than a minute for the dust and smoke to clear, baring the sight of singed grass. The cursed rocks were reduced to orange globs of ooze. The ground shook: a fissure opened in the middle of the pile, swallowed the evidence, and snapped shut to leave a small circle of clean brown dirt in the field of green grass.

“Sera will be worried,” Stella said. “We need to get home.”


	5. Not alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Stella deals with some PTSD symptoms in the next few chapters. These perspectives are from fictional characters. If you have questions or need help, please consider contacting a licensed professional who specializes in your area of concern.

When Rollie left her alone in Georgie’s bedroom, Stella wiped her nose on the edge of the blanket, lay on her back, and practiced her breathing. With three deep breaths in and out, she focused enough to reach through the Fade to Lothering. She stood in the Grand Enchanter’s office, wearing a pair of green robes she hadn’t seen since she’d left the College.

He sat behind his desk—the desk that had been his father Eamon’s—writing a missive. His gold hair shone like the paintings of kings. His clean-shaven face and kind eyes were as clear as the day she’d fallen in love with him sixteen years ago and he’d led them away from the fires of Haven.

In her chest she felt an echo of a memory, more nostalgia than love. She hadn’t exactly fallen out of love with him, but she wasn’t in love with him anymore either. She couldn’t explain the difference, but knew it to be true. She hadn’t been in love with him for years.

Still, he was her friend, colleague, mentor. Probably the most powerful mage in the world. He wasn’t a Dreamer, nor did he have the gift of visions, but Connor Guerrin was raw power. Even if dwarves could dream, Stella would have thought to approach Connor before Dagna.

“Connor,” her voice carried through the Fade to the waking world and he looked up from his writing. He couldn’t see her, but he’d know it was her. He always did.

He set his quill aside, lay his head back against his chair with his eyes closed, and sent himself to sleep with three measured breaths so she could enter his dreams.

“Enchanter Stella, this is a surprise.”

“Yes. I hadn’t planned a Dream visit until next month, but I need to tell you and Dagna about a misadventure we had today.”

“Of course, I’ll tell Dagna as soon as I wake.”

Stella sighed with relief and started the tale, the first crumbs of her overwhelming fear falling away.

When Evelyn woke her two hours later, Stella had already been back in her body, dreaming normal dreams. She slowly donned a borrowed dress and made her way to the open front door, flinching at the dangerously bright sun.

When Gorim revealed the cursed stones, her fear returned in full force and she had to lean on the solid doorframe. She wanted to bolt herself back in the bedroom and never come out, but Georgie’s arms around her gave her the courage to stand up and do what needed to be done—with Evelyn’s help.

Once the pure earth had swallowed the cursed stones, Stella dropped Evelyn’s hand.

“Sera will be worried,” she said. “We need to get home.”

-

The Healer, her young assistant, and the dwarven merchant accompanied them back to Denerim.

_Don’t make assumptions . . . she’s in love with you._

He didn’t dare hope, yet he would heed the Healer’s advice. Rollie vowed to himself that he would neither push Stella, nor distance himself from her. Either extreme would be recipe for disaster, and, whatever she decided, he didn’t want to add to her pain.

The horse-drawn cart moved slowly, keeping pace on Stella’s left while Rollie rode on her right. She was surrounded by friends, but still flinched at unexpected noises.

When they entered the fortress courtyard, she let him help her down from her horse. He wanted to pull her close, but she took a step back and looked away.

“I need to tell the King and Queen,” she said. “I don’t think they’ll allow the Princess any more swimming outings this summer—not since we’ve had two sightings of bandits in the area.”

“How can I help?” he asked.

“I . . . just sit by me at dinner?”

Her fearful hesitation pierced him with sorrow. She was afraid. One of her favorite spaces had been violated— _she_ had been violated—and she was afraid. He wanted to tell her not to fear, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t right, just, or fair. But the danger was real.

“Of course. I’d be honored to dine with you this evening, Stella.”

She kissed his cheek and hurried off toward the Queen’s parlor.

-

Somehow she made it through dinner. Even the informal meal was a strain. Rollie’s voice soothed her, but every time a fork dropped too loudly or someone made a sudden movement for a water glass, Stella startled again and clutched her skirts. Images of bandits with knives and rocks flashed through her mind every time she saw unexpected movement in her peripheral vision.

Today was the first time anyone had bested her. She’d defeated dozens of demons on her own in a single night; she’d defeated demons every night for two weeks straight, when the College had been under attack.

She hadn’t realized how fragile and vulnerable she was.

Stella choked down a few mouthfuls before excusing herself, her chest tightening even more when she saw Rollie’s sad look as she retreated. It wasn’t his fault. It was those assholes at the stream.

Without thought, she automatically walked the path to her room, not realizing that Sera had followed her until the Princess entered behind her.

Sera bolted the door and the window.

“I’ll see you settled. Where’s your nightshirt?”

Too tired to argue, she pointed to the armoire. Sera bustled about, pulled Stella out of her clothes and slipped the nightshirt over Stella’s head. She guided Stella over to sit in a chair, deftly removed all her hair pins, and combed her hair until it ran a smooth as silk.

“In to bed, Stella.”

She lay back in bed and Sera tucked the covers around her.

“Those fuckers,” the Princess grumbled. “If I’d been there, you wouldn’t have been hurt.”

“No, sweetness, I’m glad you were out of harm’s way.”

Sera grunted. “I’m going to stay with you tonight.”

“Oh, you don’t—”

“Yes, I do.” Sera kicked off her boots and tossed her jacket over the bedside chair. “Scooch over, Stella. We’re not going to be alone tonight.”

Stella made room and the Princess crawled in next to her. The warm body by Stella’s side erased the icy fear she hadn’t known gripped her heart.

“So,” Sera said, “Lullaby or story?”

“I can get the book,” Stella offered.

“No, no, stay put,” Sera said. “I know them all.

_“One fine day in Ferelden, a knight stopped at an inn because her steed had thrown a shoe . . .”_ the Princess began.

Stella was asleep before Sera got to the second stanza about missing coins and mischievous barn mice.

-

_“ . . . All the animals now snug back in their stalls, the inn keep and her new friend went back to their beds and drifted into sweet dreams. And all was well in Ferelden.”_

Stella breathed in steady peace as she slept.

 “Sleep well, my Dreamer friend.” Sera kissed her forehead. “I swear I’ll never leave you unguarded again.”


	6. The first step

Stella woke in her cozy room with her warrior friend at her side. Sera slept with an arm flung over her eyes to keep out the bright morning sun.

Stella sat and watched her for a while, soaking in the warm light.

She slowly reviewed yesterday’s events in her mind. Not all of it had been a disaster. Kissing Rollie had been heaven. They’d come home alive and rid the world of some evil men who could no longer hunt others.

But there were other evils in the world. It could happen again.

She scrunched her knees up to her aching chest and struggled with the ravenous fear that wanted to possess her.

No. No! They were not going to change her. They were dead and she was not. It was bullshit that she’d have to take guards if she ever wanted to go swimming again—just the thought of water made her hands tremble—but she’d do what she had to.

_I can do this._

The first step was to get out of bed. Surely she could handle that. She’d think about the world beyond her bedroom later.

Her knees actually shook when she got up. She resolutely made her way to the little pitcher and wash basin under her window and washed her face. She combed her hair, pinned it tidily on top of her head, and put on fresh clothes—her favorite red dress was a comfort—and her boots.

Stella took a deep breath and walked toward the adjoining door to her workroom.

She hesitated for a minute before raising a shaky hand to unlock it and turn the handle. She left the door open so she could see Sera.

The familiar scents of elfroot, ink, and vellum beckoned her in and guided her to her worktable. She’d set out ingredients yesterday morning for healing potions, sleeping draughts, and ladies’ herbal mixes. That would be a good place to start.

Her hands and mind remembered the rhythm. Soon she had her first set of vials ready in a tray.

A loud yawn from her room made her smile for the first time since yesterday morning.

“Good morning,” Sera ambled in and wrapped her arms around her waist, laying her cheek against her back. “How are you?”

“I’ll be okay.” Stella focused on her measuring beaker, afraid to think about anything else, even the friendly warmth at her back.

“I’ll bring us up some breakfast.”

“Thanks, Sera, I’d like that.”

The Princess unlocked the office door and let herself out, gently closing the door behind her.

Stella hesitated, then went over to lock the door. She’d open it when Sera came back.

-

_Andraste’s flaming knickers!_

Sera hadn’t missed Stella’s careful focus and hesitant movements. She bet she’d locked the door, too, scared to be alone.

It was a good thing those bandits were dead, or the Princess would have slaughtered them herself, maybe taken her father along for the hunt. Nothing says “eat shit and die” like a royal blade through the heart.

“Hey, Beautiful,” Brayden looked up with a smile from his seat in front of the kitchen hearth. The cooks’ long-haired, black-and-white mouser lay purring in his lap.

She pushed her anger aside and gave Brayden a light good-morning kiss.

“I’m taking breakfast up to Stella.” Sera slid a tray from the prep space and pulled fruit from the pantry.

Brayden scratched the cat’s chin. “How can I help?”

“She didn’t say so, but she’s scared to be alone. We’ll just play it by ear today, I think. Maybe you could invite us to play cards later?”

“Absolutely.”

Hands full of tray, she turned sideways to give him another kiss and headed back to Stella’s office.

-

_You have to leave your room sometime. It will be harder the longer you wait._

Stella had been grateful when Sera brought up breakfast—and then lunch—but Stella wanted to go down for dinner like a normal person. She missed Rollie’s voice and they wouldn’t have many more opportunities to talk. He’d be gone in less than three weeks.

For the first part of the afternoon, Sera helped her cut, measure, and blend potions and herbal mixes. As the day grew hot, Stella opened her office window and they could hear sounds from the sparring ring.

Recognizing the hopeful light in Sera’s eyes, Stella asked, “Shall we go down?”

The Princess strapped on her sword and shield and led the way.

The first step out of her office was fine, especially with Sera at her side, but when they approached the front door of the keep, Stella blanched.

_I can go outside. I can. It’s okay. We’re in a fortress._

Sera silently held out her hand and Stella clutched it like a lifeline. They made their way to lean on the fence, drinking in the summer sun and the sight of shirtless men in the ring.

Wooden practice swords thunked against each other and their shields as Arl Teagan and his son teamed against the King. All three men were drenched in sweat, grinning, and throwing taunts.

“Oh, my,” Stella said.

Sera leaned over to whisper in her ear. “It’s even better when _Rollie_ gets in there.”

Stella choked back a laugh. She caught sight of Rollie leaning on the opposite fence and waved. He straightened with a smile and walked round to join them.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” His voice was as richly sweet as she remembered. And she vividly remembered yesterday’s kisses.

Emboldened by the fairest of yesterday’s memories, she gave him a bright smile and slipped her free hand into his. He raised her hand to brush a kiss across her knuckles before resting their entwined fingers against the side of his leg.

Sera pretended not to notice, but Stella saw her sly smile.

“C’mon, Brayden!” Sera shouted. “He’s an old man!”

“Hey!” Alistair objected and his daughter giggled.

Teagan swung too wide. Alistair felled him with a quick double-shield-bash. Keeping his forward momentum, Alistair parried Brayden’s swing and swept a leg behind his foot, knocking him to his back, and placing the edge of the practice sword against his throat.

“I yield,” Brayden gasped out.

“Me, too,” Teagan still lay panting on his back.

They all laughed and Alistair helped them to their feet.

“Nobody beats Mum or Daddy,” Sera told Rollie and Stella. “Hey!” she shouted to her father. “We want a turn!”

She dropped Stella’s hand and vaulted over the fence. “C’mon, Mom!”

Queen Margaret also vaulted the fence. The men bowed and left the field.

Much as she loved watching Sera and Margie, the crowd noise was starting to grate on Stella’s nerves.

“Rollie?”

He squeezed her hand. “Yes, Stella?”

“Would you like a walk in the garden?”

His smile was brighter than the sun. “I’d love to.”


	7. No more interruptions

Rollie’s heart jumped for joy when Sera led Stella out into the sun. She’d been hiding in her locked room and he’d only had Brayden’s assurances that Sera was keeping her company.

When she’d waved him over and held his hand, it was like the Maker himself reached down and plucked him from the jaws of the abyss. The cheers of the spectators faded away until all he heard was her.

“Would you like a walk in the garden?” she asked.

“I’d love to.” Rollie offered her his arm and they strolled away from the noisy courtyard, onto the crisscrossed garden pathways.

Red roses and red and white carnations lined the main paths. Waist-high planters of mixed Fereldan wildflowers sat next to stone benches by every major intersection. Finches chirped and twittered in shallow baths. The black-and-white cat from the kitchens slunk toward them.

When the cat pounced and missed, scattering the birds to the free winds, Stella laughed. Her laugh was a balm for his aching heart.

She led him to sit on a bench and leaned her head on his shoulder with a relieved sigh.

“Will you sit with me at dinner?” she asked.

“Of course.” He’d like nothing more than to go with her everywhere for the rest of his life. He’d known since that first dinner conversation, where they’d talked about their families, her dog, his sheep.

“Good,” she said drowsily, and fell asleep with her arm still linked through his.

-

The chime rang to announce the dinner hour.

It felt so right to wake pressed to Rollie’s side. She blinked away her cat-nap eyes to find him smiling down at her.

She couldn’t find the words, so she pressed a soft kiss to his lips and led him inside.

Stella felt soft, warm, and floaty. It didn’t matter if they’d known each other eight days or eighty years, Rollie was perfect for her.

Dinner was a relaxed family affair. They took their usual seats and fell back into the easy, engaging conversations they’d had the first week of his visit, all of last night’s awkwardness gone.

After she’d filled her plate twice, she decided it best to leave while everyone else was still engaged in lively conversation. No one was going to interrupt them this time.

“Rollie?”

“Hmm?” He raised her left hand to his lips and kissed her palm.

She saw King Alistair glance their way and raise an eyebrow before turning to whisper something to his wife. Stella didn’t care.

“Would you walk me to my room?”

Rollie rose and offered her his arm. She linked her elbow with his, feeling more sure of this moment than any other in her life.

-

He admired her confident stride down the now-familiar hallways. The fragile look from yesterday was gone. Rollie would feel comfortable leaving her alone at her door, instead of asking Sera to stay with her again.

When he turned to wish her goodnight, she looked up with a secretive smile and wound her arms around his neck. He unconsciously set his hands on her hips.

“Rollie, do you still want me?” she whispered just shy of his lips. “Here, tonight?”

“Yes.” His pulse quickened and he could barely get the word out.

“Good,” she slid away and opened the door. “Come in.”

Her bedroom was about the same size as her adjoining office. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, for even in summer the fortress was filled with chilly nighttime drafts. Pearly moonlight spilled in through the window.

Her bookshelves were just as full here as in the other room. The gorgeous red velvet of her dress—he’d wondered why she’d worn it on a summer day—matched the comforter on her large Fereldan bed. Thick rugs lay in front of the fire and by the bed. A small wash basin and single chair sat in front of the window. A settee for two, also covered in red velvet, sat at the foot of the bed.

She locked the door, sat on the edge of the bed, and bent to remove her boots.

“May I?” he asked.

She looked up with a mischievous smile and leaned back on her hands. “Please do.”

He knelt on one knee on the rug, gently eased her boots off her feet, and lifted each foot to kiss the inside of her ankles, making her giggle. The vibrations coursed through his lips and heightened his burning excitement.

Her fair skin was pure satin under his sword-calloused hands. He slid his hands up her calves, pulling her skirts up with his wrists, and rested his hands on her bare knees.

He looked up again.

“Go on,” she urged jauntily.

Watching her blue eyes by firelight, he reached further up under her skirt. She half-stood, pressing his face to her velvet-covered belly, so he could pull off her smalls, then plopped down on the bed again, her naked thighs hot against the sides of his shirt.

In one, swift, unexpected movement, she grabbed her skirts and whipped her dress off overhead, tossing it in the general direction of the chair.

“You know, I had trouble with my breast wrap yesterday,” she teased. “Perhaps you could help? But the knot’s hidden: you’ll have to search for it.”

He felt her watch him as he moved his gaze back to her bound breasts. Her delicious shivers as he smoothed his hands over her pert nipples, explored the band and fabric with his fingers. With a few tugs, the wrap drifted to the floor.

He leaned forward and took her left breast into his mouth, making her gasp and clutch his shoulders with her hands, his ribs with her thighs. She was sweet as fresh milk and honey.

“Ngh, Rollie!”

He sucked harder, teased the nipple between his teeth. She cried out his name again as orgasm rocked through her to make her shake against him.

Stella blinked her eyes clear to look down at him. “You have far too many clothes on.”

He released her breast with a loud, wet pop that made her groan and rose to his feet. As she watched him undress, she slowly removed the pins from her hair, one by one, and dropped them on the settee.

He watched her fluid movements as she got to her feet and pulled back the covers, then turned back into his arms.

Her long hair cascaded through Rollie’s fingers like endless silk ribbons. A fresh wave of awe washed over him.

“How can such fire live and breathe?”

She kissed him—gentle, soft, deep, and sensual—and pulled him down into bed beside her.

Hands and mouths explored everywhere. Their gasps and wordless pleas blended into a single song.

She rolled him to his back, tasted his tongue; kissed his jaw, his nipples, his belly, each touch a thrilling wave of increasing sensation.

She slipped her hand down around his length and massaged underneath with her thumb, making him roll his head back and forth against the sheets in ecstasy.

“Ooh, Stella.”

She straddled his hips and guided him inside. They both gasped as he slid within and her muscles clenched tight around him.

She stilled, eyes closed and face toward the ceiling.

Concern broke through his heated thoughts. “Stella, are you okay?”

“I’m fabulous,” she smiled and looked down at him. “You?”

He gave a relieved chuckle and gripped her hips. “The same.”

With a wicked grin, she rolled her hips, setting a fast pace that quickly blew them both over the edge of release. Laughing, she fell back down to his side and snuggled close, nose to nose, blue eyes to blue eyes.

“We should do this more often,” she said.

He laid a playful smooch to her nose. “Definitely.”

Sex or no sex, if she was willing, he’d stay with her every night. Forever.


	8. The Mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this world state, the Exalted Council in the Trespasser DLC didn’t happen because the Inquisition had already downsized and repurposed when the Inquisitor resigned her post to marry King Alistair.

Rollie whistled to himself as he passed through the main hallway on his way to his room, where he’d left the book he’d borrowed from Stella. She had shooed him out of her office so she could cut herbs and mix potions with Healer Evelyn without Rollie getting underfoot. He’d reached the garden before remembering he’d left the book upstairs.

“I won’t allow it!” the King’s voice echoed out of the throne room.

Rollie froze in the empty hall, wondering if King Alistair might need a guard.

“Daddy, what is _wrong_ with you?!” Princess Sera stormed out and hit Rollie with her shoulder on the way past.

“You,” Alistair said sternly, “Report to your father at once.”

“Yes, Sire.” Brayden scurried out, eyes averted from Rollie’s inquiring gaze.

“Alistair—” That calm voice was Queen Margaret.

“Did you see him, with his hands all over her?!”

“She had her hands on him, too,” she answered calmly.

Alistair growled. “Hiding behind columns in _my_ throne room, snogging each other senseless—”

“Alistair, isn’t this what we wanted? For Sera to find someone we trust? Have at least one generation where no one was killed for the crown?”

“She doesn’t need _anyone_!” Boots stormed in the opposite direction and a door slammed.

Rollie released a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. He turned on his heel, but paused when a quiet sob reverberated out the archway.

Queen Margie was alone in the cold, cavernous room. Crying.

He hesitated. It wouldn’t be good for the Queen to be seen alone with another man.

She sniffled in earnest.

 _Fuck it._ Propriety be damned. She was alone and crying.

Rollie cautiously entered the throne room. Queen Margaret sat on the bottom step of the dais, knees curled to her chest.

“I’ll be all right,” she said without looking up, even though he hadn’t announced himself. Her voice was thick with free-falling tears. “Come on in.”

He sat down on the same step, leaving a respectful three feet of space between them. “Your Majesty.”

“Yeah,” the laugh clogged in her throat as she looked up at him, “That’s me.”

Wordlessly, he pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

“Thank you.” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

“We’ve talked about this arrangement for years, but it’s come too soon for my husband. He’s not ready—hell, _I’m_ not ready—but the world won’t wait for us. And . . .”

She sighed and pulled her elbow-length glove off her left hand. Rollie gasped at the sight.

“This is why Stella came to us. She’s a Dreamer who can manipulate the Fade. She’s kept it in check for six years. The growth slows, but never stops.”

A poisonous green glow emanated from her open palm into the air. All the veins in her hand and arm were visible through her skin, filled with the same green hue. A silent crackle of energy made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and he caught a sniff of singed ozone.

She slid her glove back on.

“Usually, I’m down with a fever twice a year: on the anniversary of the mark, and on the anniversary of the orb’s destruction.

“I’ve been ill more than usual this year. The Fade may consume me before the taint claims him, and he’s terrified.”

Rollie didn’t know what to say.

“Promise me, Ser Rollie, you’ll watch over Stella when I’m gone. Her whole life has been heartache and responsibility.”

No other request could have surprised him more. Instead of her family or nation, the Queen asked him to protect her friend.

“I—she can take care of herself.”

The Queen gave a morose laugh. “Of course she can. That doesn’t mean she needs to be alone. Not when she loves you.”

-

Potions in hand, Stella approached the Queen’s parlor. The door hadn’t latched properly and an inch of light crept along the edges. So did sounds of a hushed argument.

“Just tell your mother—”

“Alistair! Why don’t you talk to your uncle, if it bothers you so much.”

The King made a disgusted noise and there was the rustle of someone abruptly getting up from the settee. A moment later, there was the click of a door opening and closing at the far end of the parlor.

Stella waited ten seconds, gave a brisk double-knock, and entered the Queen’s parlor in her usual fashion.

“Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”

“Stella,” the Queen gave her a watery smile. “I’m glad you’re here.” She had her glove off. Her left hand rested face up in her lap, fingers twitching uncontrollably as green Fade magic fissured up from her palm into her arm.

“He’s terrified,” her voice remained strong, but her eyes were filled with fear. “He’s losing me.”

“Now, Margie, that’s just the pain talking. You’ve both got plenty of life left in you.” Stella handed her a new herbal mix potion she’d co-authored with Evelyn. “Drink up, so you can start to feel better right away.”

The Queen took the bottle in her right hand and chugged the whole thing. “Maker, that’s some nasty shit.” She grimaced and handed the bottle back to Stella.

“The nasty taste means it’s working.”

“Or it’s poison,” Margie joked.

“I only make sweet-tasting poisons,” Stella joked back. “Otherwise the vermin won’t touch it.”

She sat to Margie’s left, resting her shoulder and hip against the other woman’s side, watching her pupils for signs that the pain potion was working.

“Just do it,” Margie growled.

The Dreamer nodded and linked fingers with the Herald, jumping headfirst into a battle against the volatile piece of Fade anchored within Margie’s hand.

If anyone came in the room, they’d see two soundless, sightless women on a settee staring into space, holding hands.

Inside, it was war.

Margie and Stella were in the Fade, fighting demons. Sometimes the spirits presented the faces of Connor or Alistair, but Stella never left Margie’s side and they never forgot they were in the Fade, facing temptations that were tricks.

Today, there were no desire demons trying sly enticement. It was wave after wave of green terror demons, lashing out with talons to kill.

Stella encased Margie’s daggers in fire and the Queen whipped from enemy to enemy with her grappling chain. Stella rained firestorm, threw chain lightning, and crushed terrors with Winter’s Chill.

They’d been at it an hour when Stella felt a looming, invisible presence take heavy steps toward them.

“We have to leave now!”

Margie spun wildly, “I can keep going!”

“No!” The heavy steps were almost on top of them.

Stella raced forward, grabbed Margie’s hand, and Fade Stepped them back into their bodies in the Queen’s parlor. They were both panting from exertion.

“Thanks,” Margie gasped out.

“Any time.”

Still holding her hand, Margie turned to look at her. “It was Pride, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, you were nearing a frenzy. It would have tried to possess you—and in your tired state, the two of us wouldn’t be enough.”

“Connor could kill it,” Margie said.

Stella chuckled. “Yes, but Pride was scared to go after Connor directly: it went after his people instead. Other than you, Stanley and Rachel are the only people I know who’ve defeated a Pride demon.”

Margie released her hand and raised her palm to look. The green had faded into light cracks running under her fair skin and her fingers were steady again.

“We’ve beat them back,” Margie said, “but they’ll never leave me.”

Stella didn’t answer. There was no good answer. She wouldn’t lie to her friend.

“I could ask a surgeon to take my arm.”

Stella knew that wouldn’t work. And it might mean disaster.

“The Fade magic is a part of you now, Margie. Your hand is just the easiest way to access it.”

Margie turned to her. “There’s something else, isn’t there. Don’t hold any punches with me now, Stella.”

“It’s theory.”

“Bullshit. Tell me.”

“It’s melded with your life force. It’s loosely similar to how the taint works for a Warden landing the killing blow on an archdemon. Your death will neutralize it.”

“But setting a portion of it free before I die could open another Breach?”

“Like I said, Your Majesty, it’s just a theory.”

“Whose?”

“Dagna and I each came up with it independently.”

Margie slapped her hands on her knees and smiled. “Well, that settles it: I’ll keep it. I trust no one as much as you and Dagna.”


	9. Orange juice

The King and Arl insisted Sera and Brayden join them for some mid-morning trade negotiations, so Rollie grabbed the chance to spend an hour with Stella. He charmed a tray of fruit, ham, and bread from the cook’s assistant, and took it up to Stella’s office.

“Brought you some juice and snacks.” He set the tray at the end of her worktable.

“Good.” She capped a potion and put the tray of vials away on a shelf. “I’m hungry again already.”

He sat on her desk chair and she hopped up to sit on the table’s edge. They ate in companionable silence, her leg bumping against his knee in a friendly, casual fashion as she idly kicked her feet back and forth.

He loved these moments just as much as the time he spent wrapped in her arms.

“You know,” she said cheerfully around a mouthful of bread, “I’ve been meaning to write Dagna.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, she’s written me twice this month and I’ve been uncharacteristically slow with my reply.”

“Busy?”

She swallowed and smiled. “Oh, that’s not unusual. I’m just not sure how to chronicle the Arl’s visit.”

He shrugged and reached for his glass. “Tell her we take the Princess riding, play cards, and shop.” He took a sip.

“Dear Arcanist,” she said, like dictating a letter to a scribe, “I was wrong: There _is_ more to sex than a man thrusting his cock into a woman.”

Rollie choked and sputtered his orange juice down his front.

Stella smiled wickedly. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell her I’m in love.”

She pulled a white handkerchief from her pocket. Leaving one foot on the floor, she placed her other knee on his thigh. Stella dampened the corner of the handkerchief with her tongue and gently wiped around his lips with her kerchief-covered finger, pointedly ignoring where the sticky juice soaked his entire shirtfront and rock-hard lap.

Her capable hand cleaned his chin with the same calm she’d show a patient, but half her weight pressed into his leg, her bosom stretched her dry shirtfront to almost touch his soaked chest, and her lips twitched in amusement.

Her gaze drifted up from his mouth to the fire in his eyes and her laughter melted into tenderness.

Still clutching the handkerchief in one hand, she let the back of her wrists drift down to rest against his shoulders, framing his collar bone, and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

The light touch shook him more than anything else they’d done. It was Stella—brilliant, shining Stella—showing him there was more than one way to love.

Eyes burning with unshed tears, he pressed his mouth against hers, just enough to tell her he kissed her back, tell her he understood. Tell her he treasured her.

“Stella, I love you, too.”

She smiled, took him by the hand, and led him through the door to her room.


	10. Spyglass

Rollie would have preferred a full day in Stella’s company, but, after they returned from their morning ride, Sera dragged her off to deal with seating arrangements. The formal banquet was only three days off.

As soon as they’d finished combing their mounts and hanging tack, Sera took Stella by the elbow.

“C’mon, Stella. If Gran and Hill are going to make me decide who sits with whom—and then criticize my choices—I’m going to need an ally.”

Stella sent Rollie an apologetic smile over her shoulder and let the future Queen drag her back to the keep.

Brayden watched Sera’s retreating back and sighed.

“Want to go with them?” Rollie asked.

“What? No way!” the boy shook his head. “Mum’s not here to make me do it.” He smiled. “So, how about we check out my latest acquisition?”

“What’s that?”

“A spyglass,” Brayden rummaged through a saddle bag he’d set on a stack of crates. “Ah, isn’t it beautiful? I found it at the booth across from the dwarven weapons merchant.”

He handed Rollie a cone of smooth brown leather. A single concave lens sat in the wider end.

“Let’s go on the battlements and try it out,” Brayden led the way from the stables. “It came with three lenses, but I want to commission the glass blower for some more, for varying distances.”

They climbed the stone steps to stand on the wall. The caress of the summer breeze brushed past their faces, carrying the scent of food vendors and iron forges from the market.

“Try it,” Brayden said. “Since the King’s feeding us and all, I’ve got enough of this month’s allowance left I think I’ll get a matching set for Sera.”

He said it casually, eyes averted, but it was clear he was looking for advice.

“A perfect gift for an adventuring woman,” Rollie said just as casually, noting Brayden’s pleased smile as he lifted the spyglass to his eye.

First he checked out the market. He could see faces as clearly as if he was standing in the middle of the crowd. The dwarven merchant beckoned for tourists to step closer to inspect the latest goods from Orzammar. The Healer and her young assistant stepped from her cottage and locked the door behind them. A pair of noblewomen, shadowed by a trio of personal guards, gossiped over bolts of fabric in the market center.

He slowly moved in a circle, inspecting the roads in and out of Denerim, passing by the women and men patrolling the battlements—their helmed faces appeared as blurry blobs because they were so close—over the wall toward the fortress, past the rain gutter next to Stella’s window, and over the rose trellis under the King’s balcony.

Straight into the King’s bedroom.

_Andraste preserve me._

The window next to the balcony was wide open. The Queen stood nude behind a waist-high porcelain wash basin, leaned back into the King, her arms arched up behind her to wrap around his neck as he laid kisses to her bare shoulder. He used a white handkerchief to dry and massage her breasts—

Rollie yanked the spyglass down and blindly handed it to Brayden.

“Sera will love it.”

Brayden grinned and turned to peruse the marketplace below. “I think so, too.”

Rollie’s pulse pounded as an unbidden image flashed across his vision: fair Stella leaned back into him, her fiery hair loose between them as he pinched her nipples through a thin piece of cotton.

_Maker._

_I’m supposed to be chaperoning the Arl’s son, not reverting into a randy teen myself._

Not that he’d been a wild teen. His first time had been with a tentative farm girl neighbor of his youth. She’d admired his broad shoulders and deft hands while they sheared rams together. When their parents sent them to the well to bring back water for cooking dinner, she’d bashfully asked him to be her first, before her father shipped her off to marry some third cousin twice removed whom she’d never met.

He’d been just as nervous as she; partly from inexperience, partly from worrying about what their parents would do if they were caught. The straw in her barn hadn’t been the most awkward part of the experience, but it was still a sweet night of mutual exploration.

It had pained him when she groveled with gratitude the next morning: Clearly her parents hadn’t instilled in her much self-confidence and he felt like a lecher who’d used her, not helped her. He hoped her arranged marriage far from home had given her the chance to find herself.

He hadn’t been a wild adult, either. He’d only been with one other woman before Stella: A talkative Matron of the arts passing through Redcliffe, eager to add a strapping young guardsman to her list of conquests. It had involved more ale than sense, but they’d enjoyed themselves and parted on friendly terms.

Not everyone was so lucky. Man or woman. And a man, however young, needed to understand that.

“Brayden.”

“Hmm?” He lowered the spyglass.

“Whatever you and Sera decide, you have a responsibility.”

Brayden frowned quizzically. “We know that.”

“I mean beyond the crown and the arling. You, personally, have a man’s responsibility.”

Brayden laughed. “She’s not some damsel locked in a tower. Did you see her throw me in the mud yesterday?”

“Yes, because she has to be ten times as strong as any man to survive her position.”

Worried confusion washed over Brayden’s face as Rollie went on.

“Most of the world won’t look past her breasts to see the person—”

Brayden took an angry step forward, “You shouldn’t be looking!— ”

“I’m not! Let me finish.”

Brayden glared, but listened.

“However strong, and smart, and resourceful she is, Sera is a woman. A great warrior like her parents and Queen Moira—and a woman. She and her mother arm themselves just to go shopping. It’s not just because they’re royalty: it’s because the greatest danger to a woman is a man. Because, even in Thedas, we men don’t do enough to stop it. It starts with assumptions and crass jokes; it ends in thievery, exploitation, rape . . . death.

“Use your spyglass again to view the market: you’ll see the maid with her brown hood up and eyes averted stride toward her destination; she can’t stop to browse the pearls because two men lean on the counter, eying her like she’s the merchandise. The Healer: she’s got a knife in her boot and grips her basket like a weapon, even though she’s a well-respected professional in Denerim. That grandmother down by the fruit stall, look: she holds her cane like she may need to smack someone with it. There’s a reason why women travel together: they have to or they’ll die.”

Rollie looked up from the market to find Brayden crying silently.

It hurt, but Rollie had to finish. “That’s why Lady Trevelyan pushed for these betrothal negotiations. To put a stop to scheming dukes and teyrns—and teyrnas—who will harry the crown until the Princess is bound to a husband who suits their ends. That’s why the King is so furious: He knows Sera could rule alone, but fears it risks her life.”

Brayden choked through his tears, “What do we do?”

“You already treat Sera as your liege lord and an equal soul. The rest of the world needs to see your example, especially if you’re to rule Thedas with her: When you encounter injustice, large or small, speak up, just like you did chasing off those bandits on the ride here.”

Brayden gave a watery chuckle. He sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand.

“I love her.”

“I know, kid,” Rollie put an arm over his shoulder. “Otherwise, your father wouldn’t have brought you here this summer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve known about Alistair’s talent with that white handkerchief since I wrote [The King and the Inquisitor](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4366598/chapters/9908555), but another sex scene at that point would have bogged down Margie and Alistair’s storyline.


	11. What is this contraption?

“Beautiful,” Gran said. “Absolutely beautiful. Do a little spin, now, darling, so we can see the back.”

Sera held back a sigh and shuffled her feet to make a small circuit of the dress fitting platform she stood on. The ivory satin sleeves were delicious against her skin, and the intricate gold embroidery beautifully mirrored her gold eyes, but the corset was definitely not a plus—she had no idea how she’d be able to sit at dinner, let alone breathe or fit any food in her stomach—no matter how awesome it made her boobs look. And the lace around the collar and cuffs made her itch.

She wanted to wear trousers like Daddy and Duncan, but if Sera’s mother wore a dress, she had to also. At least Mum’s was a green velvet with no itchy lace or constricting corset. There was only so far Gran could coerce Mum.

Sera looked at her mother again and narrowed her gaze. Something was different.

 _Shit_. She was wearing two gloves. Most days she wore one to hide her left hand—when she’d been the Inquisitor, she’d gloved her right and kept her left free—but for formal events she left both hands bare. Something must be wrong.

“Mom?” she couldn’t hide a little tremble.

Margie stepped forward and squeezed her hand. “It’s fine, sweetie, Stella’s taking good care of me. We’re not going anywhere.”

Meaning Mum and Daddy. He had the taint of a Grey Warden. She held the poisonous mark of the Anchor in her hand. Even if human assassins didn’t kill them, Sera would lose her parents long before old age claimed them.

“Now, baby,” Mum handed her a handkerchief. She hadn’t realized she was crying. “Dry those tears. Remember how your Daddy and I kicked your arse in the ring this afternoon. We’re not on our way out any time soon.”

Sera laughed through her tears and bent from her perch for a hug.

“All right, ladies,” Gran said, “Let’s go show those men we can still best them when wearing ridiculous clothes and shoes.”

“Oh, Gran,” Sera laughed and dragged her into the hug, too.

The last of her sorrow melted away when she started down the main staircase and saw Brayden looking up at her in awe. He was wearing some dark formal outfit with gorgeous embroidery she’d never remember later, but his shining eyes locked on hers would cement this evening in her heart forever.

She joined him at the foot of the stairs.

“What is this contraption?” Brayden ran a hand down her long sleeve, his hot touch sending shivers down her spine.

“It’s called a dress. Gran insists it’s clothing, but it’s actually a device of torture.”

“Whatever it is, you make it look good.”

She pressed her lips together and blinked at him shyly. “Thanks.”

“If I may have the honor, Your Highness?” He offered her his arm and cutest smile. She smiled back, lay her hand upon his, and they walked into the formal dinner together.


	12. For a Child of The Stone

The morning after the formal dinner, Rollie’s chest felt so full of love, he had the overwhelming urge to offer thanksgiving.

“Take a walk with me?” He offered Stella his hand and she took it.

They strolled casually through the corridors, but he had a destination in mind. He led her into the chapel and didn’t miss her blink of surprise. Nor did he miss the stiffening of her shoulders.

_Ah._ He had been wondering why she never spoke of the Maker. Perhaps he would find out now.

Still hand-in-hand, they approached the votive stand to their left. It stood about chest high with four rows of candles, a small offering near the elbow of a larger-than-life statue of Andraste.

“Do you wish to light a candle?” He offered her the taper, waiting to see what she would do.

-

What was Rollie doing? He’d been walking just a little too close for propriety, rubbing his thumb in her palm like all he wanted was for her to drag him back to bed, and then he dragged her into the Chantry chapel instead and invited her to light a votive.

She shook her head. “You go ahead.”

Though a Child of The Stone, Dagna had insisted the twins study Chantry history and catechism so they could better understand Thedas and her people, but Stella didn’t pray to the Maker or Andraste. Her parents hadn’t. The Circle had tried to shove the Chant down her throat for the three years of her childhood imprisonment in the Circle. Connor never made Andrastian comments either, though his Uncle Teagan seemed devout and the King and Queen had their own rather irreverent ways of expressing their Andrastian beliefs, usually while cussing some earthly problem.

Rollie smiled. “I will pray for us both.” He lit three candles and knelt before the towering statue of Andraste, whose hands and arms were open toward the heavens.

“Sweet Andraste, thanks be to the Maker for this day. Thank you for Stella, her brilliance and beauty only surpassed by her compassion for and service to others. May we all learn from her example, so that we may live the Maker’s will.”

She shifted on her feet and fidgeted. She never thought about the Maker’s will. Clearly, it was important to Rollie. What would he think of her once he realized she wasn’t Andrastian?

He pulled something from his jacket pocket and set it at the feet of the statue. It was a single, blooming Embrium with a chain of wild white daisies wrapped around the stem, like a necklace of shining jewels for a queen. It looked as pure as spring sunlight.

Rollie rose to his feet, took Stella by the hand, and led her from the chapel.

“It’s probably blasphemy to tell the Maker’s bride your lover is beautiful.” Stella couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice.

Rollie laughed. “And brilliant. Don’t forget I told her you were brilliant.”

Cheeks burning with humiliation, she scoffed and dropped his hand to cross her arms over her chest while they walked side by side. Her mind ran in circles with no clear thought or destination.

He laughed again. “Oh, Stella, I talk to the Maker about our sex life all the time.” That earned him another glare, but didn’t stop the tears of mirth streaming down his face.

When she picked up her pace to leave him behind, he stopped walking and regained his serious voice to call after her, “Beloved, who do you think created love and lovemaking?”

She froze, shoulders tight up around her ears. So he did understand. He didn’t care she didn’t believe, and it didn’t make his faith waver in the least. And she was still his beloved.

After a moment, she stiffly stuck her right arm out, hand open, but didn’t look over her shoulder to see if he’d accept. He strolled up, gently took her hand in his. She relaxed her shoulders, but didn’t meet his eye, lest he note her unshed tears.

She led him out into the sun-filled garden to continue their stroll, gaining enough courage from the warm light to ask what burned in her heart.

“Who was the third candle for?”

“Dagna.” He smiled sweetly when she stared at him, speechless. “For sending me to you.”

He raised her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss.

Who was this man? How could she have ever loved another?

Rollie prayed for a Child of The Stone, a surfacer whose own people had struck her name from the Memories. Connor had held Stella and Rane’s hand when fleeing Haven, but Dagna had become their mother. Dagna had dried their tears, read them stories, taught them the essentials of Thedas before sending them out to live their own lives.

Dagna was the only soul Stella loved as much as Rane. Until today.

“Rollie,” she whispered in awe, and kissed him.


	13. Cheese with King Alistair

A runner told Rollie the Queen requested his presence. Rollie reluctantly rose from his secluded seat in the sunny garden and closed his bookmark in Stella’s copy of the latest installment of Swords and Shields.

_I hope it’s not another day of shopping._ Riding with Stella was fun, but following Sera and Brayden around the marketplace with the Queen wasn’t. Queen Margaret was a gracious hostess with a wonderfully wicked sense of humor, but shopping just wasn’t his cuppa.

“Rollie,” Arl Teagan intercepted him on his way to the Queen’s parlor. “Margie has the children well in-hand.”

Perhaps Brayden had not shared with his father about the little incident in the throne room. He and Sera certainly hadn’t behaved like children—hormonal youth, but not children.

“I thought you could join me in a chat with the King.”

“I would be honored, Arl Guerrin.” His throat wicked dry with sudden nervousness. A private audience with the Arl and the King was not a casual meeting, no matter how casual the two nobles were with protocol.

Teagan led the way into the King’s parlor and they sat in trim armchairs upholstered in deep red velvet.

The King entered a moment later, carrying a silver tray laden with cheese and crackers, a chilled bottle of wine under one arm.

Teagan rubbed his hands together in anticipation as Alistair set the food on the short coffee table, where three wine glasses already sat ready. “Excellent choice, Alistair.”

The King nodded, popped the cork, and poured.

The King of Ferelden was pouring him a glass of wine. Rollie’s strained nerves jumped another level. What was going on?

“Now,” Alistair handed Teagan and Rollie their glasses, “mixed wildflowers are Stella’s favorite.”

“I beg your pardon?” Rollie was so shocked he didn’t stop to think before opening his mouth.

Alistair sat back with his glass and a chunk of cheese. “My wife found out for you, weaseled the information out of Sera, for when you propose.”

“Propose? Your Majesty, we haven’t discussed . . .” He trailed off awkwardly, feeling like a worm whose rock had just been turned over. He hadn’t even bothered to ask her what she wanted from their life together—if she wanted a life together.

The King fixed him with a royal stare. “You want to spend the rest of your life with this incredible woman, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, Sire. I love Stella.”

“Good,” the King nodded cheerfully. “Enchanter Stella is a woman who deserves the world. Be sure you give it to her.”

“I will.”


	14. Leave one alive

Sera hummed happily, hand resting casually on the pommel of her sword as she approached the sparring ring. Spur-of-the-moment, she decided to detour to the gardens and take Stella some flowers first. She usually did so a few times a month, but she’d been so wrapped up in Brayden . . .

She smiled to herself. Stella was wrapped up in someone, too. Surely a bouquet for her office would match her sunny mood.

Sera bent over one of the planters and pulled her utility knife out of her belt buckle to cut wildflowers. Once she had a blooming variety in hand, she strolled into the keep and up to Stella’s office.

She opened the door without knocking.

“Hey, Stella, I—Alarm!” She yelled at the top of her lungs.

Instead of Stella, in front of the open window stood a burly rogue with short black hair and a fist-sized rock strung around his neck on a gold chain. He vaulted himself through the window and grabbed the rain gutter as she dropped the flowers on the floor and sprinted for the window.

The burly man was scrambling down the gutter as fast as he could. Five other bandits ran across the courtyard, one of them lagging behind with Stella drooped over his shoulders.

Sera grabbed Stella’s desk chair, hoisted it up into the window, and heaved it straight down on top of the rogue. He screamed and fell to the pavers with a dull thud that crushed his skull.

“Alarm!” Sera screamed again, climbing through the window.

Heedless of cuts and burns, she held on to the rough stone drain and let her bodyweight rapidly slide her down to the ground to race after them, drawing her sword and shield while on the move.

Guards swarmed to the gate and the kidnappers changed course toward the garden, the man carrying Stella now in the lead. Sera was gaining on them.

“No fucking way, assholes!” she shouted.

The one in the rear spun to face her too late: she shoved her blade through his belly and kept running.

_Four more._

She heard pounding feet behind her, but no one else was close. If she lost them, they lost Stella.

Her fear for her friend was eclipsed by brutal battle lust when the next two men turned soon enough to put up a fight, each with a short sword and dagger.

Sera laughed manically, knocking one aside with her shield so he had to stumble and regroup.

“My mother is the _Herald_ , bitches!  No dagger can touch me.”

She spun in close to club the other in the side of the neck with her blade. He fell to the ground with a gurgling scream, his momentum pulling his neck free from her sword, and he breathed no more.

She spun to face the other: a young man about her age with brown hair and terrified brown eyes. His blades were up to parry, but he didn’t move to attack.

Her father shouted from behind, “Leave one alive!”

With a frustrated growl, Sera clubbed the young man in the side of the head with her pommel and raced on before his prone form hit the grass.

_Just two. I’m close. I’ve got ‘em!_

She didn’t need to.

From her deceptively limp position across the last man’s shoulders, Stella grabbed his waist and kicked his partner in the head. All three tumbled into a heap of flailing limbs and she rolled away, whipping the stone amulet off over her head and chucking it toward the face nearest her.

Sera kept running for them, but was knocked on her ass when Stella called down Firestorm to incinerate her last two kidnappers. It was so swift and complete, there were no screams, and all that remained of them was a patch of singed, smoking ground.

Heart and breath racing, laughing and crying in equal measure, Sera scrambled to her feet and raced over to fall on her knees by where Stella sat on the grass.

“Nice job, Your Highness,” Stella grinned.

Sera sobbed and dropped her weapons, and gathered Stella in a crushing hug. “Twice they tried to take you from me.”

“Yes,” she hugged her back, “I pretended to faint—didn’t want another concussion—heard the leader say they needed me alive or the Princess wouldn’t cooperate.”

Sera gripped Stella's elbows and sat back in shock, eyes filling with fresh tears. As heir to the throne, she’d always known assassins might come after her, but she’d never considered how it would affect her friends and family.

“Hey, Sera,” Stella pulled her back into a warm embrace, “We stopped them.”

“Well done,” Rollie stood there with her father, his warm smile not hiding the panic in his eyes. She hadn’t heard them arrive.

Sera jumped up and hugged Rollie, kissing his cheek and making him stumble.

“Your Highness!” he squeaked.

She dragged him over and pushed him down to sit on the grass next to Stella.

“Here, Rollie, sit by Stella,” voice thick with happy tears, she repeated what she’d told him that first night at dinner. “Everybody else is boring.”

Stella immediately dragged Rollie into a very personal kiss.

Alistair blushed. Sera picked up her sword and shield and dragged her father back to the young man she’d clocked in the head. He stood trembling in the center of a double ring of twenty guards, facing the grim and silent Queen of Ferelden. Brayden and Teagan stood behind her, arms crossed menacingly over their chests.

Renewed anger boiling, Sera shoved through the ring to stand between her mother and the prisoner, get right in his face.

“Name. Rank. Employer,” she demanded.

“Sam, Your Highness. From a farm ten miles out of Redcliffe. I, I, h-have no rank. I thought this was a hostage exchange for Magister Pavus’ people—Tevinter traders in Amaranthine—” He gasped for breath. “I didn’t even know where we were until we’d breached the garden wall! Pavus would never go after Trevelyan’s people—I don’t know who sent us!”

Sera twitched in his direction, barely restraining the urge to punch him.

“I swear by Andraste’s pyre, I didn’t know!” The survivor’s voice pitched upward in panic.

He jerked his head toward the mercenary Sera had gutted. “He had the orders.”

A guard searched the dead man’s pockets and handed a tightly-folded page to her father.

“It’s Tevene,” he handed the page to Mum. “I thought they all used the Trade tongue these days. I don’t recognize any of these symbols.”

She examined the vellum. “Only an Altus would use Tevene,” she murmured. “That narrows the list of suspects.”

“Pavus wouldn’t do this!” The prisoner’s hands were shaking. “He’s an Inquisition hero!”

Mum snorted in amusement. “I’m very well aware of that, thank you. I will talk to Dorian. He will be happy to hunt down this Altus for me.”

Sera would love to sit in on that conversation, but her mother would probably lock everyone out when she used the sending crystal to talk with Uncle Dorian about something so sensitive.

Sam stared open-mouthed, finally figuring out who stood in front of him.

Sera crossed her arms in grim satisfaction. “That’s right, asshole. My mom is the Herald of Andraste.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you romance Dorian in-game, during the Trespasser DLC he gives you a sending crystal for long-distance communication. In this world state, Trespasser didn’t happen, but Dorian still goes home to become a Magister in 9:44 Dragon, and he gave his friend Margie the crystal at the banquet after defeating Corypheus in 9:42 Dragon.


	15. Epilogue

“Theo’s done,” Stella sighed in frustration and passed the sleeping baby to her husband to put in the basinet. “And, as usual, he left me half done.”

Rollie returned to sit by her on the bed and hold her hand, rub his thumb along her wrist. “He’s happy, and strong, and growing. He gets enough.”

Her right breast ached and dribbled on the blanket. Melancholy, she eyed the empty beaker on her side table. She did not want to fill it, but if Theodore wouldn’t eat more, she had to. Hot tears started in the back of her throat.

“I feel like a faulty cow. I can’t figure out how to feed my own child.” Salty tears burned her face. She rested her head against Rollie’s solid shoulder. He ran a soothing hand down her loose hair.

“I’m more lumpy and bloated now than when I was pregnant, my brain is mush, and I waste so much milk every day that I—I  . . . I’m such a mess, our son will learn nothing but nonsense from me.”

He sat with her, letting her soak his sleeve with weeping, repeatedly running his hand down her hair. Gentle, sweet, strong Rollie. As solid and present now as he had been from the beginning. He understood this frustrated sadness would pass. Add that to the dozens of reasons she loved him.

Crying helped. His arm around her helped.

She sat up straighter, wiped her free hand over her face with a sniffle. “Anyway, I suppose I should . . .” but she didn’t reach for the beaker.

“Beloved,” his rich baritone still gave her delicious shivers, whatever else her hormones were doing. She looked up into his blue eyes, awed by the hungry heat she saw.

Hope sparked in her chest. They hadn’t made love in weeks, since before Theo was born. She’d reached a point where it was too uncomfortable.

“Stella, you are a gorgeous woman.” He pressed put a finger under her chin and pressed his lips to hers. “You are a brilliant woman.” He kissed her again.

She groaned and ran her hand up into his thick black hair.

“And,” he smiled against her lips, “if you’re worried about waste, perhaps I could make you more comfortable.”

She giggled as a new wave of excitement whipped through her. She hadn’t known he’d read that page of the Lady’s Guide.

“I’d like that.”

Sliding his hot hands up her ribs, he placed more soft kisses on her lips, nose, eyelids. He gently positioned himself on his knees in front of where she sat propped up nude on the pillows.

Eyes locked on hers, mindful of her tenderness, he took her aching right breast into his mouth and started a slow suckling with no teeth.

She cried out his name in relief and gripped his shoulders as a hot wave of wanting rose from her wet and ready thighs into the rest of her body. Still drinking, he eased her knees further apart and slid two fingers inside, instantly finding the points he knew threw her over the edge.

She cried out his name again as she came, shuddering against his hand and mouth. With fingers and lips, he milked out her aftershocks, pulling them into a warm blanket of pleasure across her mind.

When he released her breast, he ran his tongue across the nipple before moving up to kiss her behind her ear.

“How do you feel?” he whispered.

“Fabulous,” she murmured back, clutching her muscles tighter around his fingers to make him grunt with wanting.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt. “You have far too many clothes on.”

He chuckled and shucked his shirt and breeches while she squirmed down to lay flat beneath him. She pulled him down into a deep kiss and wrapped her legs around him.

They made slow, languid love, sharing wordless whispers in the morning sunshine. Joy burst through her when he crested and called her name.

With a contented sigh, he pulled the blankets up over them both and snuggled closer into her arms. The touch mended her heart and mind, filled her with understanding and hope she’d never found in any of her studies or friends. In and out of the bedroom, serious or fun, he was always happy to be at her side, just as she was happy to be at his.

She hadn’t understood love before they met. Now she knew love made all the difference in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Check out my [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/dafan7711/enchant-my-heart/) for this story.
> 
> This is the fourth story and second romance in my [Beyond Circle, Beyond Order](http://archiveofourown.org/series/368558) series. They can be read together or as stand-alones.
> 
> Margie and Alistair's romance, [The King and the Inquisitor](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4366598/chapters/9908555), is part of my [Inquisitor Romances](http://archiveofourown.org/series/368576) series.
> 
> After the [angsty one-shot](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5531420) I wrote Christmas Day, I promised Cullen a Happily Ever After story. Brainstorming and rough draft are underway!


End file.
